


keep you like an oath

by endofadream



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And them being dumb saps, But cute morning cuddles, Lot of character exploration, M/M, Some Fluff, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:16:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofadream/pseuds/endofadream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quiet intensity had drawn Lee in and quiet intensity has been what’s made him fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep you like an oath

**Author's Note:**

> I kept saying that I'd write something that wasn't mindless smut and my god am I happy to finally have done it. I hope you enjoy!

Lee opens his eyes and immediately squeezes them shut with a groan, trying to snuggle further into the sheets. Even on his days off his internal clock is still set for those hellishly early shoot schedules, the constant  _go-go-go_  while the rim of the sky is still only pink that bleeds into twilit blackness. Now that he’s up he knows that any attempts at falling back asleep are going to be useless.

Yawning, Lee snuggles back and Richard’s arms tighten around him, pulling his back closer to his chest. Even unconscious Richard is possessive, arms tight and secure around Lee’s chest. It’s still something that pleasantly surprises Lee, how fiercely protective Richard is of those he loves, the lengths that he’s willing to go once you reach that inner circle.

Outside the curtains the sun is early-morning gray, that limbo somewhere between dawn and the creamy white of mid-morning. It falls smoky in slats on the carpeted floor, stretches hungry fingers towards the huddled mess of clothes at the side of the bed. The deep-set ache in Lee’s joints and bones suggests that neither of them have moved since they went to bed last night; he yearns to stretch, to pop those stiff joints, but then Richard snuffles against the back of his neck, breath warm and pleasantly tingling, and scoots even closer with a whispery rustle of sheets and a deep, contented sigh.

It revs Lee’s heart. It’s been so long since he’s had this kind of quiet, soft intimacy, and it feels so  _right_  that it’s almost wrong, almost too good for this to be happening to someone like him who eschews allowing people this close to his heart. But Richard has been an exception, an entirely different story from the moment that they had been introduced on the  _Hobbit_  set as old rivals, and oh, what a laugh that’d had been: Lee was a goner the moment Richard’s eyes, as bright blue as ever but dark and mysterious, with their troubled and murky depths as Thorin the wronged and bitter should-be king, had met his and held Lee’s gaze with such intensity that Lee had to look away. Quiet intensity had drawn Lee in and quiet intensity has been what’s made him fall in love.

He stretches back and wriggles, yawning into his pillow, and a pressure has him stopping mid-yawn and smiling instead. A push back earns him a groan, Richard’s hand sliding down Lee’s chest, and Lee teases, quiet because he isn't sure if Richard is quite awake yet, “Looks like someone’s  _up_.”

“Not the bad puns,” groans a throaty, sleep-rasped voice against the nape of Lee’s neck. It sets Lee to laughing, grinding against the hot swell of Richard’s cock heavy against his cheeks.

“You love the bad puns,” Lee says, placing his hand over Richard’s and leading it to the jut of his hip. Their fingers curl together around the shelf of the bone and Lee uses the anchor to start a slow, steady grind with the easy sway of dancer’s hips, shuddering when Richard manages to slip between his cheeks and slide over his hole.

“I love  _you_ ,” Richard replies, all but a low growl as he sinks his teeth into the firm muscle of Lee’s shoulder.

Lee gasps, arching away from, and then into, the pain. Before  _Hannibal_  Richard had never been a biter, but that goddamn character bleed had been fast in making its way into their sex life and Lee’s chest and thighs, neck and hipbones, have all bore the red-purple grooves at one point. Lee won’t admit it out loud, but he’s spent more than a few mornings in the mirror tracing them over the crisp light spilling in from the window.

Richard pulls back and kisses over the mark. “Sorry.” Lee can hear the apology in his voice, knows that his forehead is lined and his brows are drawn tight. He’s more method than Lee could ever hope to be, always to the point of near-madness because of the inextricable way that it leeches onto him, and it isn't unusual for him to lose himself while in the process of creating or filming a character. It’s admirable, enviable, and Lee loves it. “I don’t—”

“It’s okay.” Lee reaches back, cups the back of Richard’s head and runs his fingers through the short blond strands. Before now he’d only ever seen them in old picture, and it surprises him how much he likes Richard like this. His neck is in full view and Lee arches it, displays it, and the faint pinch of Richard’s teeth before he retracts makes electricity race up and down Lee’s spine. “I actually kind of like you when you're channeling your inner Dolarhyde. It’s weirdly sexy.”

Richard snorts. “You only say that because I haven’t been in full makeup yet.”

Lee rolls over, pins Richard to the bed and thrills at the feel of all that hard muscle and hot skin laid bare and vulnerable beneath him. Richard’s legs part easily, allowing Lee access to settle between them. His eyes are still sleep hazy when they look up, morning stubble dark on his face.

“Darlin’,” Lee drawls, because he knows how the endearment and accent affect Richard, “dwarven prosthetics, cleft palate prosthetics, dark hair, blond hair…you’re gorgeous to me no matter what.”

“Even with morning stubble?” Richard challenges. One corner of his mouth curls up, and Lee is powerless to not match that budding smile.

“Especially morning stubble,” he says, gathering Richard’s wrists up in his hand to pin them on the pillow above Richard’s head. He gets a muffled whimper in response when he captures Richard’s mouth with his and kisses him deep, heedless of morning breath and that pesky stubble scratching against his own.

It grows deeper with a quick ferocity, the mattress creaking and Lee lowering his weight as he switches angles, sucks Richard’s tongue in his mouth. The sheet still covers them in sheer, supple white, but with each almost-thrust that Lee drives against Richard’s cock trapped between them it slips lower, the air cool on Lee’s back and its dewy beginnings of sweat.

Richard strains against Lee’s grip, lifting a leg higher to curl it around Lee’s waist. Teeth are sharp on the line of Lee’s jaw, sharper still where they nip around his earlobe and tug. Lee groans, low and deep, and at that moment his phone begins buzzing on the nightstand.

Without giving it a second thought he balances his weight on one hand and reaches over, fumbling with the buttons before he finds the one that silences it. There’s a chance that it’s important, but right now Lee honestly doesn't care. It’s early in the morning on a Sunday, and his boyfriend is panting and worked up underneath him.

“Shouldn’t you have answered that?” Richard rasps. In the absence of Lee’s hand holding his arms up Richard drapes them around Lee’s neck, angling his head up to give him a curious, almost stern stare. Any scolding effect that it should have had negates immediately by the kiss-swollen redness of Richard’s lips, the pink flush staining his cheekbones and the wild, hungry look in darkened, hooded eyes.

Lee shakes his head and scoots down, presses his lips to the spot just at the curve of Richard’s neck, the one that will always produce the lowest moans and the most plaintive whines. Under him Richard does just that, fingers digging deep into Lee’s hair. Lee does it again, nips and licks a little lower over the jut of the tendon. “Whatever it was, it’s my day off with my boyfriend, who, in case you didn't know, just got here last night and is only here for another day. Unless someone managed to snap a picture of you blowing me before we remembered to shut the curtains there’s no way that it’s dire enough for me to actually get up from this bed.”

“Lee!” Richard exclaims, and Lee muffles his laugh against the hard line of Richard’s neck. He’s quick to poke his tongue out, drag it slow and wet down to the hollow of Richard’s throat, the sharp bone of his clavicle, and soon everything is forgotten that isn't  _Lee, Lee, oh god oh my god_. 

“I think,” Lee begins, licking lower and tracing through sparse dark hair, “that we should just stay in bed  _all day_.” His tongue finds the small bud of a nipple and he licks it to peaked hardness, sealing his lips around the nub until Richard is writhing below him, tugging on Lee’s hair and begging in a voice that steadily gets higher and breathier. Lee moves on to the other, and this time Richard’s voice cracks on a keen that echoes off the high ceiling. He's spitting out curses intermingled with Lee’s name as Lee moves on, licks down and looks up as he follows the line of Richard’s abdomen and the outline of muscles hardened from rigorous training. The thought and sight of them has Lee nearly moaning; he’d seen how Richard had looked during  _Strike Back_ , all bulging muscle and broad shoulders, and though he hadn't said anything when Richard had begun working out again for  _Hannibal_  all Lee could think of was Richard holding him down and pinning him to the bed. So far he’s still been too chickenshit to ask. “What do you say?”

It’s met with silence, with Richard’s panting breaths and the faint tick of a clock. His fingers relax somewhat in Lee’s hair, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. Lee pushes the rest of the covers off, letting light spill over Richard’s body. It paints his chest and neck in white, highlights the strain of wiry forearm muscles as he grips at the sheets with the hand not still buried in Lee’s hair, the faint glimmer of sweat and Lee’s saliva. Shadows the dales and valleys of all the sharp curves and angles of his body, from his jaw to his hips.

Finding time to be together has been difficult: A few days here, at Lee’s place in New York, the wide openness of a farm for when the noise and smog of the city work into their pores and constrict their airways; a day or two there, between appearances and filming and visiting family. But that, Lee thinks, is what makes all this worth it, because the time that they do get to spend together is precious, cherished, spent slowly and carefully the way that all good things should be handled.

They fuck, and occasionally they fight, but those instances are microscopic, trampled on by the times that they worship, the times that they don’t speak at all but still say everything that needs to be said through looks, caresses, a topped-off wineglass that hadn't needed to be asked. Lee would be willing to trade anything even if it was only for every bad day that they’ve had together.

Sometimes Lee remembers back to how they’d taken New Zealand for granted, how every awkward fumble in a too-small trailer on a too-small bed had been rushed, one ear always on the door just in case. They’d been like teenagers, then, drunk off the beauty of the country, the high of filming, off wine and discovering each other inch by inch at the end of exhausting days, finding out what kinds of noises they could wring from each other. They’d hidden behind giant props, great dwarven pillars and intricate sets, and had stolen kisses in the masks of their characters, just because they could, just because every time that Lee saw Richard his heart raced and his stomach fluttered even if Richard was wearing the skin of Thranduil’s rival and even though Lee’s teenage years were decades behind him. Love is supposed to make you feel young, isn't it?

The hand still in Lee’s hair slides down, the backs of long fingers tracing gentle down his cheek to curve around the strong jut of his chin. Richard lifts up and Lee meets his eyes, biting his lip and grinning up at him. They’re both still hard, still aching, but it’s a slow burn this time, and Lee is happy to draw it out, to wait.

Richard’s thumb traces the swell of Lee’s lower lip, then the sharp angles of his cupid’s bow. Lee blinks and darts his tongue out to lick, leans forward to open his mouth and draw Richard’s thumb in, tongue tracing the grooves and whorls of his fingerprint. Richard inhales sharply, eyes going wide, and nods, once.

“Fuck it,” he says, smirking devilishly. He tugs Lee up, wraps large hands around Lee’s hips. “And let me fuck you. I’m always partial to it in this light.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr (endofadream)! And reviews are always so helpful and lovely <3 even though I know it's so uncouth to do this.


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